The Seven Deadly Sins of Dr Spencer Reid
by Windgale
Summary: Spencer Reid doesn't believe in God, but he believes in sins. A compilation of ficlets. ReidCentric Most are sad.


**The Seven Deadly Sins of Dr. Spencer Reid**

By: Windgale

Disclaimer: Me? This? No.

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_**Fear**_

Reid's mother had only ever told him one fact that had turned out to be untrue. He remembered it clearly, as with everything. Once, during Christmas, she looked at him and told him that holidays were magical. It was strange. She had often told Spencer that there was no such thing as real magic. That's why he loved magic tricks, he supposed. Still, this strange new fact shook him. He made a mental note to look into it further, though he never really did. His mother had never lied to him before. Why should she start now?

As he grew older, though, he found this fact to be untrue. There was no such thing as real magic, and even if there were, there would be no statistical reason for it to hover around holidays. Magic, if it were real, would have no way to sense certain dates, as it wasn't a living thing. It just didn't make sense. Spencer had chalked it up to her schizophrenia.

He guessed that's why it didn't make sense now, as he sat, paralyzed with fear, wishing for a holiday. It didn't have to be Christmas. Just a holiday. Any holiday. His mind was flooded with facts about every international holiday in existence. Spencer was sure that there was no such thing as magic as much as he was sure there was no such thing as God. He was smart. He was armed. Yet this fear growing in his stomach was irrational and sickening. It was that fear and irrationality that caused him to send up a silent prayer to whatever God could be listening.

"If I wait for a holiday, could you stop my fear?"

_**Violence**_

Reid was not a very touchy man. He preferred waving instead of handshakes. He preferred smiling half awkwardly over the comforting touch. His mind was very subdued. When someone was mad at him, he would let them scream, hoping that it would let them get their feelings out, rather than scream back at them. He hated confrontation, and he knew it.

It made no sense, then, why he did what he did that afternoon. Morgan was as innocent of a man as humanly possible. A good coworker. A good friend. He had no idea what he'd done. But all of his past flooded through his head and broke through his statistical wall. Past that, nothing could stop it. Reid had snapped.

"Do you want to go for a ride, Reid?" was all he had said. But Reid remembered. He remembered too well. Those boys. Older. Taller. Stronger. "Wanna go for a ride, Spencer?" they had said, forcing him into their car. Reid had cried out for help, and everyone heard, but did nothing. No one could do anything. He had been tied to a tree deep in a forest with no means of escape.

He was weak, then. He couldn't fight them off, then. But now he was older. Stronger. Wiser. He would fight them off. He forced Morgan against the wall, his hands closing around his throat. Reid had gone into a blind fury. Morgan tried to fight him off, but the combination of his surprise and Reid's sudden adrenaline caught him off guard. Suddenly, in his mind, Morgan turned into his tormentor. Reid knew what he was doing, but couldn't stop, and frankly, didn't want to.

He was brought back into reality by a heavy punch to the face. He looked up at Hotch, tears streaming down his face once again.

_**Silence**_

Reid looked at his teammates surveying the crime scene. A young child had been murdered and dumped at a playground. His team was discussing the profile. It had to be someone with a sick sense of regret. They had returned the child to the playground to make the child seem alive again, to make it seem as if he hadn't killed him.

Reid slowly zoned out of the conversation. He looked past the jungle gym and the teeter totters. A swing set was peacefully standing in the wake of a tree, its swings slowly blowing in the wind. It looked lonely, Spencer thought. He quickly tuned out his coworkers and walked to the swing set. His team paused their conversation to look at him, but he didn't notice.

He looked at the swing set, now in front of him. He took a step forward and slowly sat down in one of the seats. He stared off into space, losing himself in the moment as he rocked himself back and forth on his heels. He was sure Rossi called his name, but he couldn't hear it. Slowly, he lifted his face up to the sunshine with his eyes closed. It felt so warm, he thought. The breeze played in his hair, but it, too, was warm and inviting.

He could feel the investigation had stopped behind him, and he cursed his mind for shutting off. He cursed the silence. He wanted to be with them. He knew he was wasting time. But the silence in his head had drained him of all his energy and he felt as if he had been drawn to that spot by a power he could not see, and furthermore, did not believe in.

He heard a soft giggling behind him, and he turned slowly to see two very young girls standing there. Spencer smiled gently as them, and they giggled again. "What are you doin' on the swings?" they asked, giggling once again. It was as if they'd never seen a grown up on a playground before.

"Just enjoying the silence." he replied.

_**Sickness**_

Spencer was sick again. He was coughing and sneezing and looked dreadful, but he still tried to keep it from his team. He liked being at work. He liked using his mind. More then anything, though, he hated to lie in bed at his apartment knowing that there was a killer out there he hadn't helped catch. Hiding a terrible cold from a roomful of profilers proved to be a challenge for even the young prodigy.

He tried to think this was an ordinary day. He was going to work. His job, at the FBI. He shook his head. The fuzziness of sleep clouded his thoughts as he tried in vain to recall what FBI stood for. Ever since he was a kid, sickness clouded his thoughts, and he couldn't think straight. It's not that he couldn't think, it's that his thoughts came out... fuzzy.

"Did you know there are a thousand kernels of corn on the average cob?" he told Emily offhandedly. There. Some random trivia would convince them he was fine. But Emily just looked at him funny. "What?" he asked.

"There are eight hundred kernels, not a thousand. You've told me before." she said it slowly, almost knowing it would take an extra second for her words to sink past Spencer's sick mental layer. When it did, he just blinked a few times and attempted to apologize, but still convince her he was fine. She told him no, go home. He pointed out that none of the other agents went home when they just had a cold. She took him to Hotch.

"I don't need to go home." Reid stated for the millionth time that day. His teammates knew better, though. All Emily had to do was say, "He's got a cold." and Hotch told him to go home. Reid knew it messed with him, but even with his IQ cut in half, he was smarter than most of his teammates. Eventually he consented.

When he came back the following week, though, he found out that two more people had been killed. And it was his fault.

**_Stupidity_**

When left to himself, Reid would often think about the world. People, he had decided long ago, were the only things that changed constantly, and they therefore constantly changed their world. People often followed an unspoken rule- what you see is what you believe. Reid didn't believe this wholeheartedly, however. Analyzing people so much wasn't good for him, Reid decided. He did nothing about it, though.

Reid himself was on the edge of sanity. He wondered if only he knew this, or if it was apparent to everyone else as well. He could name his demon- schizophrenia. He was sure he had it, or, more accurately, he was paranoid that he did. It was passed down genetically. He knew the facts. No matter how many times Hotchner or Morgan or Garcia told him it was improbable, he knew.

More often then not, he thought about his mother. The biggest thing he wondered was that when the disease sunk in, if she felt it. Could she feel herself tipping over the edge of sanity, or did she never realize it? Certainly she never knew, as she still to this day claimed nothing was wrong with her. But schizophrenia, did it make her feel smart? Did she still feel like she knew everything in the world, or did she feel... stupid?

Closing his eyes once again, Spencer Reid decided he would rather take his own life than feel dumb. But for now, he was too smart to be stupid.

**_Hatred_**

Reid could feel his own heart beat in the dead silence and darkness that encompassed him. The unsub that had captured him was approaching the bed he was handcuffed to. This was not good. It didn't take a genius to know that. Reid struggled against his cuffs pointlessly as the unsub got closer and closer. Reid had tried to reason with him, but to no avail. Normally, Reid wouldn't give up, but he knew it was futile.

The unsub placed a large knife in front of him, but out of his reach. Reid stared at it wordlessly. The unsub had unlocked a door in front of him and pushed it open, revealing a hallway leading to two more doors. There was another door in the room, the one the unsub had used to enter and exit, but Reid could tell he wouldn't be unlocking it for him any time soon. He walked away from Spencer, and unlocked the door. He walked halfway through it, then turned and looked at the chained up man.

"One of those doors leads to life, and escape. The other leads to death." He motioned to the knife he had placed on the floor. "Or you could stay, and take fate into your own hands." He had a wicked grin on his face. He threw the key to his cuffs to him and quickly escaped through his door, locking it behind him.

Reid knew it was wrong to hate, but at that moment, he did. He unlocked his handcuffs and picked up the knife, staring at it. Yes, Reid hated at that moment, but whether it was himself or the unsub, he did not know.

**_Influence_**

Spencer had always thought influence was a strange thing. People were influenced and caused influence every single day. Some people rode the current of other people's ideas, and others stood firm in their decisions, guiding the people around themselves, as if not to crash into things.

Aaron Hotchner, his boss, was once who caused influence. He stood firm, giving leadership as if it was pouring out of him like a waterfall. Sometimes, he grieved over mislead influence. Sometimes, he rejoiced, internally at least, over well given influence. At the end of every day, he was happy with himself.

Penelope Garcia, his coworker, was one who was influenced upon. She had her own personality, but was guided by other people. Every day she sat in her small office, waiting for the call. Her hands buzzed over her keyboard, being influenced by the calls that came in. She was able to not feel so responsible in this way, but always did her best. At the end of the day, she was happy with herself.

But himself? He was both, Spencer, thought. He was both, and he hated it. He had too much weight on his shoulders. He was never sure where he stood. Was he under the weight of responsibility, or was he free under influence? Every turn he took, he had to think twice. At the end of the day, was he really happy?

He supposed so, he thought, as he inserted the needle into his arm again.

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**Author's Note**: There you go. A collection of seven, albeit darker, Reid ficlets. I tried to keep each one separate from the others and change the feel to match the theme. And yes, I know these are not the true seven deadly sins, but I feel these are Reid's own personal sins. I'm thinking of making a sequel of his seven heavenly virtues. Interest? R&R


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